We returned from our Alpine holiday today, unhindered by a snowstorm in Geneva, a luggage handler strike in Paris, or the Department of Homeland Security (though a DHS agent sternly reminded Mr. P that his “Permanent” Resident card expires next August while giving him the ole’ hairy eyeball that authority figures like to pull on supine innocents just to make the day go by faster).
Even more miraculously, our bounty of foreign liquor, cheese, and foie gras remained unmolested — indeed, unnoticed — by US Customs. “You’re all set,” the youthful Customs representative said, waving us through customs while scanning our declaration form. His eye snagged on the box in which we admitted to carrying meat. “Wait, you have kind of meat you got?”
“We have four tins of foie gras,” I admitted.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Ummm… it’s duck, but it’s USDA approved and it’s in a can,” I said, not sure exactly how descriptive I should get about the supreme delicacy that is gavaged duck liver.
“That sounds okay, you’re all set,” he mumbled, and we rushed through to the non-secure area of the airport, happy to have held onto the foie gras and the 2 pounds of raw-milk Beaufort cheese in my duffel bag. Strangely, I was under the paranoid assumption that the US Customs operates solely to prevent travelers from bringing back un-approved cheese from foreign lands, but apparently their best men aren’t busy securing the border from dairy and meat products.
Wowza, what a long day. The clock says 8pm, but my body says 2am. I will abscond to bed and grab as much sleep as I can before the inevitable 4am rousing by jet-lag. Vacation pictures to come…
